Getting High

I started smoking again just to prove how over you I am.

I found 5 pointed stars in my bed,

Tore my sheets and poked microscopic holes in my mattress.

A dip in the terrain for every night you’ve spent.

I sleep over 3D maps and contemplate earthquakes now.

The mountains you created make knots in my back,

My lows don’t feel so low anymore;

While the highs,

Hurt a hell of a lot more

Than the lows

Ever did.



I wish my jeans were smaller

that I would speak less about things I don’t know about.

Even with my size

I feel I carry such heavyweight;

In my words

or my expressions.

I walk with my head down

and I have a nice curve down my spine.

I’m always carrying a backpack

and my shoes are too tight.

I crash into strangers

because I think I take up too much space.

Blue vs. Orange

I went to an estate sale.

A woman was selling a baby blue guitar.

“It’s yours — I’m moving to Aruba.”

And off I went with baby blue in hand.

As Blue as an Aries,

was the name of the band.

There was a boy in navy blue swim trunks playing in a South Jersey blue hole.

I blushed at the site of him — pink.

I put down my guitar and started to paint my hair shades of blue.

Streaky and soft,

like watercolor ink.

I found a man in orange,

offering me warm bearded kisses.

I didn’t want them but I was cold.

“This could be a good move for me,” I thought.

I went to the bathroom to wash the paint out,

but the whole room was blue.


I don’t feel pretty when I wear my glasses;

I wear them anyway.

My hair’s getting long now

The weight of my head

Makes it pin straight

It goes right to hell.

My skull feels swollen

I can feel calcium trying to mix with oxygen.

I’ve learned to not say hello to people who aren’t worth a sliver of my time, or

More appropriately put;

A single strand

Of my silver stardust gorgeous hair.


I missed the night.IMG_3698

I smoked passion flower,

left a water bottle open in my bag,

slept with lipstick and glitter

for 12 hours and it’s still not enough.

You were in my dream–

at least a part of you was.

My childhood fish friend decided to move in with me.

It’s always dark now,

in every dream,

Blue, Black, Grey silvers of light

form the non-existing moon bounce off of puddles and trees.

I want to hide.

I want to be seen.

I don’t know which one I want more.

I am surrounded by vomit,


and sleepiness,

and disappointment.

When did everything I write become so dark?

Quit gagging (it’s not what you think)

I thought seeing you would make me feel better,

but now I feel worse.

As if I didn’t hate them already.

As if I needed another reason.

I would tell you if it was your fault,

but it’s really not.

I would speak the words

if they didn’t make me so sick.

I would say them loud

if I wasn’t already gagging.

Some people make you feel worse

while some make you feel better.